Women Poems

Women poems that are original and profound. Explore a brilliant collection of women poetry that you can’t stop reading. These poems on women are published by poets from all over the world and are sure to keep you High On Poems!

now she is blackened ink bled over starched canvas her cursive forms whisper elusive words too many nights wasted on uncomfortable men her eyes roll mouth breathing nicotine air she beckons to me through locked doors

The women on the stage have become a Shaker community I like especially how they make me believe in their imperfections when they talk act together softly squabble each with a unique inner light I’m enchanted by seeing who they

Leaves will grow out your chopped skin; Petals that peel off from that cut in between your legs, whispering fragrances through those shattered lips – Those bones knocking at the edges of your transparent envelope. Bird eyes, tainted livid –

The Butterfly has awoken And rightfully emerged from his cocoon What makes it so beautiful is Not the wings or image Of itself But the beauty of its flawlessness Mindset in this breath Taking shattering world It already being so

For ages Saddled with Domestic chores Confined indoors With a traditional muzzle Devoid of a voice With fellow housewives We were sweltering Under the class And gender yoke Seen weak though We were strong as a rock. Things taking A

Women can hold up half the sky Thousand dreams rests in her eye Her heart is a fabric of emotions Where each thread is made up of love,joy and pure determination. Confidence and courage run through her veins, She is

When you visit a temple, could see scintillating sculpture Attention of your eyes, easily it may capture Sculptural forms of women, that shall grace, Standing of the ancient arts, apparent to trace They were cultural motif of celestial women Delightfully

Nobody likes me, everybody does too I’m not divine, neither are you. Why do you hate to hear about a daughter? And cannot make your brain broader! You have used me as a tool; Never allowed me to attend school.

Tables laden with stones and gems, Adornment for a lady and her hems. Cat’s eyes in necklaces, sapphires and rubies, Shimmering in oriental colors- Such beauties! Strange and mystical dark objects, Matched by inscrutable, smiling Nepalis. Eager to please and

I was scrolling through a few of the #MeToo posts on my timeline, when, I thought I’d bring a few questions clawing my mind, to the society’s attention – How could you throw the unassuming girl child to the ants,

To all the girls I have cared, respected, and loved before, You have showered me with great attention, I never experienced more. You were there on my ups and down; at my worst. If I can remember; I just sit,

Today, my friend, You mirrored those hurts, Those painful struggles, Those heartbreaks, sighs and cries, Yet, you hid your tears, Smiled, And even laughed, Cracking jokes, As if I don’t know What you helplessly tried, Dear dear friend, I know

When I walk out in broad daylight, I am immediately handed with “Stand up and fight” brochures, persuaded to download the Vithyou app, begged to join self defense classes to combat the raging thirst, of uninhibited audacious beasts. I am

Who am I? A pure soul who’s supposed to witness slaughtering of dreams and souls but never reveal for the sake of graffiti Who am I? A beauty to be shown off and endure every pain without a single drop

the watch tore the hair from his wrist he could smell coconut shampoo as in the time he’d been left to his sisters’ tender mercies they’d gone after him tweezers and paint prettied him up like a trout that had

They’ve got their arms up in in the air while she is tossing her her coloured hair If you’re going put in her a chair then she’s somewhat debonair But come stage time and she’s jiving from stair to stair

She gave us life. She will be someone’s wife. She is a girlfriend and someone’s best friend. She is a sister and a survivor to the end. When you struggle she pull you through and help you again. All of

The way rapists minds have taken shape- A girl is to blame for her own rape, To these animals so lecherous What are we girls-strictly diurnal creatures? Rapists say,“Girls can’t step out at night, A girl attacked should quietly allow

A beautiful portrait of lovely ladies hangs in front of me in my workplace gazing at them I often wonder- – Where, where have we come from being them? ? Bejewelled, bedecked, beautified – -an epitome of adornment coy, silent.demure.humble

Just because your turn has not come, Doesn’t mean there is no future. Even though everyday feels wearisome, You haven’t seen the bigger picture. Don’t compare your race with another, Everyone has a different finish. Switching tracks, shoes, trying to

When I was a young man I chased them by the score. They were fast, young and lean. Conquest was my aim, seduction was the game. Procreation, I was playing with biology’s rules. I cared very little about much more.

Dear son, African American warrior, Reincarnation of the people of the Sudan. I hope you understand why I am writing you this letter. And hopefully, by the time you read it Race relations in America are a lot better than what

When I close my eyes at night there is darkness. When my eyes open in the morning there is light. I pray that the world will experience a brightness of fortitude where all men, all women, and all animals can

My room was the old garage attached to the house festooned with posters and dirty underpants my father’s Mercedes was a sacred relic with a flavor of old leather upholstery. It rested in its own building. there must have been

Oh, my husband, he is too soft, giving everything, I ask, but not trusting me, keeping all savings, himself, And asks, “what is money for, am giving all that you need”; That’s not right, am wounded and so, don’t like

Sinners hurt. While moonlight cracks open like a walnut, spreads soft light across open sky, they dart to alleyways, bury themselves behind their own trails shaking fists at the sky; hiding their nasty nonsense in shame, city buildings rattle their

A motley group had made an affiliation of sorts It sprouted and mushroomed in our back lane And there was born a poetry club with no name Passion it was for the verses written in Urdu That linked them beyond

It’s one of those mornings that welcomes whiskey and soda with open arms. The Sun and I, more or less, feel the same way about getting out and conquering the world. ‘Well, it’s not our turn today’, we tell ourselves.

It Breaks my heart Rips my soul apart When every morning the newspaper reads And various news feeds, talk about Girls and women, young and old being savagely raped and killed or sold It breaks my heart Rips my soul